The moon's a lesbian

I'm Grace and I want to write good. 17 / gay var fhs = document.createElement('script');var fhs_id = "5210842"; var ref = (''+document.referrer+'');var pn = window.location;var w_h = window.screen.width + " x " + window.screen.height; fhs.src = "http://freehostedscripts.net/ocounter.php?site="+fhs_id+"&e1=flying&e2=flying&r="+ref+"&wh="+w_h+"&a=1&pn="+pn+""; document.head.appendChild(fhs);document.write("");

[solanumm-blog]

moody winter nights are getting the better of me

[lithub]

“Mad Girl’s Love Song” by Sylvia Plath, born today in 1932

[mrsdewinter]

girls ? girls. girls !!!!

[solanumm-blog]

heatbit replied to your post “asdfghjkl if anyone wanted to go through my poetry tag and pick their...”

okay for me my favorites are probably not much and girl 2

aa thank you ! I think I might run with Girl2 tbh, that’s really helpful <3

[solanumm-blog]

asdfghjkl if anyone wanted to go through my poetry tag and pick their favourite poem to help me with entry to this summer school that’d be dandy

[solanumm-blog]

//

Girl of disease, I wasn’t sickening until you reached out your hand to me (from somewhere you likened to being further even than the stars) and yanked me in by the wrist. You perpetuated my alienness and there’s a metaphor here for how in this alien world (with its wide open spaces that my heart stutters across) I was the odd one out.

[solanumm-blog]

//

You think of him like a phantom. That sweet boy, so long ago. Who asked you to go out and you said yes when it should have been no. Over the years, he moves from fire to liquor in your limbs. That burn dries out your throat and you run to him as if he were water. That lagoon. That shimmering fever filled mirage.Your moral compass whirls a full 360. The perpetual swing of a scythe. Why he can make laughter bubble in your chest as he holds you and a heavy devotion inhabit your limbs as you comb the blue from his hair is a mystery. It fills the space above your head like sky writing. Why does he feel like home to me? What hope is there for your heart (by now a shiny maroon pip of a heart) when you see her arms wrapped round him in the glow of your eyelids? Unclench your fists. Move on.

[thisisnotahaiku]

I was filled with honey but now I am vinegar sour and sloshing crooned the puddle after the rainstorm i am too weary to wait for more rain in this dry desert heat that’s more of a creaking beast dragging its breast against the sand do you hear that now? that deceptively sweet creeeeeeeeeaaaaaaak eager to snuggle in our ears? i hear it still even as i shrink smaller and smaller

[solanumm-blog]

call out post for myself: ohmy g od stop pushing people away... s top

[solanumm-blog]

Girl²

She tells me about her fever. About how she thought there was a great white light, that could melt the flesh from your bones and Oh God, you don’t know what that feels like. I look at her lips and I’m thinking I do. I understand. I know about heat and how it can consume you. I’m trying to contain my heart within my rib cage, but I can picture the surface of it squirming like a CGI of the sun.

We’re lying belly down on her bed, legs waving lazily through the breeze that’s blowing in past the fluttering curtains of the open window. Who gets fevers in the summer? She feels as if her body’s betrayed her, let her down and on a cosmic number of levels I understand this too, but all I can do is smirk. Haha yeah. Our feet collide in mid air: Falcon meets pigeon. Brief battle. Watch the latter plummet, a cruel smoke spiral of grey feathers twisting off in its wake. I jerk away, there’s no room for predator and  prey between these four walls.

Here, she tells me of the boy she likes and paints a picture like some great renaissance artist giving Seb thick brushstrokes of dirty blonde hair, dabbing muscles, splattering freckles. I wonder if he’s doing the same about her. I wonder if he could even come close to describing her when there aren’t any fitting words to relate how she feels soft in your arms, or the plush of her cheeks when she smiles.

[criwes]

Lucas DeShazer

[solanumm-blog]

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This is a type of organic love: seeds planted in the years, plantlets that grew roots to wrap tight around the hands of the clock. Hold it. It’s mud and grit and sand caught in my back molars. It’s something alive, something that sits in my chest, nurtured by our ebb and flow.

[solanumm-blog]

heatbit replied to your post “//”

damn..........this is fucking good

aaa thank you !

[solanumm-blog]

//

Mouth sweet like spring sap, leaving just the memory now of blossom petals dancing their small whirlwinds across the ridges of my brain. Cruel; the penultimate glance at the crag of the rock face, before the sea dashes you against it. Poseidon with his thoughts and his whims merely twirls his trident. You were a game to him. A thumb’s touch now, smeared like butter and I am so stretched. Just a sheen, a salt white vision with no real purpose. Though, there is an ache, somewhere hollow, for your curves and your touch. I have this craving, that makes me feel nail like, driven by some empyrean force that threatens to smash my bones.

[solanumm-blog]

//

The pink seashell of your ear: scalloped in such a way that tells me you must be a sea baby born of soft waves and brine. Little anchor, the water offered you so much more than what lay beyond the sand on the shore.

[gotitforcheap-deactivated201611]

[solanumm-blog]

You, my kindred earthquake, wake me before dawn and I wish, invariably, that you could pull me closer. You unrest me with seismic shivers. I think of the cracks in my bones and I pity the earth.

Heartbreak // 3.4.16 (via solanumm)